


Like Persephone

by setos_puppy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, LiveJournal Prompt, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setos_puppy/pseuds/setos_puppy
Summary: Azazel sends Sam into the Pit where Sam becomes Boy King and takes Gabriel as a Consort.





	Like Persephone

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt [here](http://community.livejournal.com/gabrielsam/96976.html?thread=313040#t313040) on the gabrielsam community on livejournal back in 2010. Being moved over to share with the masses.

Sam stood, looming over Jake's dead body before tossing aside the gun, he looked up at Dean and wiped the blood spatter off his face. Dean snatched the Colt and Sam eyed them all as they scrambled back, dodging the blast. It shook the ground, leveled the trees, but Sam stood strong. The wind whipped his hair about, and a slow half-smile curled his mouth and he felt the power, the pulsing, enticing thrum of it. 

 

“Sam!”

 

Sam's head turned towards Dean, who was crouched behind a tombstone, clutching the Colt to his chest like frightened child, looking up at Sam with wild, disbelieving eyes. Black smoke and flickering spirits billowed from the door – the gaping maw into Hell, wild, unnatural winds tearing through the stillness of the graveyard. 

 

“Sammy!” 

 

Dean pushed himself up, fighting against the gale. Arms grasped at Sam's shoulders, bony fingers digging in painfully. He was yanked back, but he didn't fight against the strong pull, even when he stumbled his body was loose and easy. He felt the sucking, gasping pull of the Pit and instead of fear was serenity. He heard Azazel laughing, hard and like gravel, in his ear and he couldn't help but smirk. 

 

Destiny.

 

Fate.

 

Home.

 

The push against his sternum was hard, sucking the breath from his lungs, fingers brushed along his own, Dean's, but Sam made no move to grasp at them. He spread his arms wide and shut his eyes. 

 

The darkness took him and Sam fell.

 

~*~

 

“Finally joining us, are you?”

 

Sam's eyes fluttered and he pushed himself up, he was in a bed, in a room. His eyes swept the gathering in the room, they were human – or looked human – their eyes pitch black. Two women, two men. They were all relatively attractive and smiling fondly and... wearing name tags. Sam read them off, the woman, closest to him, had short red hair, her name tag said _Hello my name is: Astarte_ , next to her was a long haired male brunette: _Hello my name is: Laraje_ , the other male had spiky black hair and olive skin: _Hello my name is: Malphas_ , lastly was a child, her blonde hair was in long braided pig-tails: _Hello my name is Glasya Labolas_.

 

So... Hell was a business.

 

Figured.

 

“We've been waiting,” Laraje said, toying with a piece of hair. 

 

“For what?”

 

“For you, silly!” Glasya Labolas said, giggling. “Follow me!” 

 

She shot out of the room, the others following and Sam rushed to keep up. He had expected endless hellfire and pain, not a welcome mat, definitely not this.

 

Endless screams filled the air and Sam caught glimpses of people bound in chains, run through with hooks, through the wide, arching stone walls of the bridge. Sam was lead down a set of winding stone stairs illuminated with torches, it was so cold, so, so cold. 

 

By the time they reached the end of the stairs Sam was surprised he wasn't trembling in the cold. His breath plumed out in mist and the stones were layered in ice. A wide, wooden door was in the middle of a dark, frozen cavern. Glasya Labolas was standing by the door, bouncing, like a hyper child.

 

“He's waiting for you,” she informed, nodding towards the door.

 

“He?”

 

“Him.”

 

Sam eyed the door, the runes above it in what looked like Hebrew, only older. He took hold of the large iron ring and pulled, hard, grunting under the weight of the door until it shuddered and gave way, just barely enough for him to slip through the gap. He wiggled his way inside and looked through the darkness. There was darkness, endless, impenetrable darkness. And the cold, oh the _**cold**_! 

 

In the darkness there was a flicker of light, before it got brighter and brighter and filled the whole room. Icicles hung from the ceiling of the cavern, shining brilliantly in the light, Sam looked around, eyes wide, it was beautiful, despite the cold. He looked ahead, blinking in shock, there was a cage, huge, and oppressive. 

 

The light was coming from the cage. 

 

Sam walked forward, slow and cautious, hands fisted. Finally he reached the bars of the cage, made of iron, freezing under his hands when he curled his fingers around them and looked inside. The light was so bright and so beautiful, he couldn't look away. The light was moving, shifting, constantly in flux and there was a shape inside of it, humanoid – barely. Faint flickers of something recognizable as humanoid but sexless, genderless. There were wings, wide and expansive, but cramped inside of the cage, there wasn't just one set, there were twelve, a row of six on each side and larger than anything Sam could fathom. 

 

An Angel. 

 

An Angel trapped in Hell. 

 

“Lucifer...” 

 

_Hello Samuel_

 

Sam reached a hand inside the cage, the light – Lucifer – washed over him, so cold it burned, his skin turned red, then purple, then blue, but it felt so good. Sam was touching an Angel. Not just any angel – The Angel. 

 

 _Flattery, Samuel..._ Lucifer's voice was melodic in it's playful chiding. _None of that is relevant at the moment, however, you are here for a purpose, Samuel. You are here because you are **ours**. You are  mine._

 

“I don't understand...”

 

_Our Prince, Samuel. My right hand. You were made especially for me, Samuel, and when the time comes when I will walk upon the earth, you will be there for me, with me._

 

“I...” 

 

Sam felt like he should protest. Like he should tell Lucifer to shove it. Pray endlessly for Salvation. But it felt right. He had fought against his dad and Dean for so long, for something he couldn't understand, for a freedom he had never been granted. He had all of those powers, those powers Dean hated and feared. 

 

He had passed The Demon's test, killed off his opponent, won, and this was his prize behind Door Number One. 

 

Prince of Hell...

 

Power. 

 

Family.

 

There had to be a catch.

 

_Smart boy, aren't you, Samuel. There's always fine print, it's true. You need a consort, a... Queen as it were._

 

Oh.

 

But...

 

_Your Consort can be male, idiot._

 

“Hey! Don't call me an idiot!”

 

Dean would be with him in a year, he wouldn't be alone. 

 

_Dean as your Consort? Why Samuel I had --_

 

“No! I just meant it will be nice to have family with me.” Sam tapped his fingers against the bars. “I wouldn't want to be alone and without family like you.”

 

For a moment, Sam thought he felt Lucifer smile. 

 

_That compassion in you may burn away yet, Samuel. Regardless, we have much work to do and very little time in which to do it. Go with Astarte, she will help you find a suitable mate._

 

“You mean I can't just... pick?”

 

Lucifer sighed. _Samuel, you must pick someone on **our** side, **your** side. We have a list of potential matches, you will pick from that._

 

Sam rose a brow. He was going to be set up on dates by a demonic matchmaker. That made perfect sense.

 

_Go with her, Samuel. We will speak again soon._

 

Sam nodded and released his grip on the cage and turned, walking back towards the door. The light that was Lucifer began to fade. Sam paused, turning back towards the cage, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but instead closed his mouth and slipped outside.

 

~*~

 

“Alright... Let's look at the first few. Are you interested in looking at women as well? Or did that end with...”

 

“Just men, thank you.”

 

Sam was seated in a rather comfortable leather couch and watched as Astarte pulled over her Mac – because of course Hell ran on Apple – and curled up beside him. It was surreal to know that Hell was a bureaucracy, he wondered if Heaven was as well. 

 

“They are. And the red tape is even worse.”

 

Sam laughed shortly and took the hot chai tea from a nameless demon, nodding in thanks and sipped it. Sighing in satisfaction. 

 

“Aright, I've queued up all male identified demons, Fallen Angels and demi-gods.”

 

“Male identified?”

 

“Just because we may wear a woman doesn't mean we identify.”

 

“Ah, right.”

 

“Alright...” She clicked a few times and a slide show started. “First we have Azrael, angel of death and judgment.” 

 

The picture showed a man with skin the colour of coffee with milk and almond shaped brown eyes.

 

“Next.”

 

“Alright, Amon.”

 

Sam winced into his tea the second the picture showed up.

 

“Hey, some people like the rustic, older male look.”

 

“Not me.”

 

She typed a few things in a the computer beeped and then the slide show blinked before a picture of a smart looking male in horn-rimmed glasses flashed on screen. He had fire red hair and green eyes. Beside his picture was an elaborate sigil.

 

“Ah, Dantalion.”

 

“He's nice. I like him.” 

 

Asarte right clicked and a check mark appeared on the picture before the slide went away. “Alright, next we have Murmur.”

 

~*~

 

About three hours and a meal of Chinese food – Sam could really get used to this decadence and hedonism thing – later they had come up with five suitable matches (Dantalion, Furfur, Vapula, Baraqiel, and Satariel) and were looking for a sixth. 

 

A picture flashed on screen, of a casual looking dishwater blond hair and honey coloured eyes. He was the only one with more than a head shot, reclining in a chair dressed in battered black jeans and a white dress shirt. 

 

“Wait,” Sam ordered, leaning forward on the couch, pointing at the screen. “I know him.”

 

“Loki?”

 

“Dean ran him through with a stake and killed him.”

 

Asarte flashed him a smile, all white teeth and perfection. “Oh Samuel. Loki is hard to kill, slippery weasel. He checked in three weeks ago to make sure we were still on for poker.” 

 

Sam's mouth fell open then he grinned, he had always liked the rambunctious Trickster. Dreamed of him nights after. Of his mouth. “He's on the list.”

 

“Very good.”

 

Saving and then standing as something printed, Asarte picked up the paper. “Your date with Baraqiel is tomorrow night in France. Nice is fine right? Or would you prefer Cannes?”

 

“Whichever,” Sam stammered out. Somewhere other than America? Anywhere other than America. Score. 

 

“Nice it is.”

 

~*~

 

Sam flipped through his book, three weeks had passed since his fall into Hell, and his search for a Consort. 

 

Dantalion had been nice, until he turned out to be the kind of guy who just had to correct you if you were wrong. Sam hated that. 

 

He had gone on a second date with Baraqiel but then he left Sam in the middle of dinner because he had some virgin to slay or something. Jerk.

 

Furfur was rude. You could be a demon and still be dignified, dammit, but Furfur was just... uncouth. There was absolutely no reason to chew with your mouth open, no matter who you worked for.

 

Vapula, as any philosopher, was **boring**! He would sit around talking endlessly on eschatology and theodicy. There was only so much of that Sam could take before he was ready to stab himself in the eye with a fork just so something interesting would happen. 

 

Satariel, on the other hand, was wonderful. They had their third date the night before and it had been wonderful. He was in so many ways the perfect gentleman, chivalrous and funny and engaging. Sam was pretty sure if he didn't hear from Loki in the next three days he was going to pick Satariel for his Consort. 

 

Loki had been impossible to get a hold of. Sam had tried to make a joke about being imprisoned in stone and punished for eternity, but it turned out that people didn't find that all that funny when it was true about their boss. Oops. 

 

Sighing, Sam rolled onto his back and lifted his book over his head, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He dropped the book and sat up with a start when the door banged open and a petite blonde pounced on top of his stomach, knocking the wind from him.

 

“Your-soon-to-be-highness, good news!”

 

Sam lifted his head to look at Glasya Labolas, who was wearing a sickeningly adorable pink and white gingham dress with a long braid, complete with curled ribbons. She was sat astride his chest smiling down at him happily, her ink black eyes glittering in the firelight of the room. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“We got a hold of Loki!”

 

“Oh?”

 

She nodded and cradled against his chest, Sam toyed with her braid and smiled in her hair. She may be a horrible, cruel demon, but sometimes she was just so fucking adorable. 

 

“He wanted to let you know he was sorry he couldn't see you right away. He had some business to attend to. He is a demi-god after all, they're pretty busy.”

 

“I haven't seen you lately,” Sam observed, switching topics, “where have you been?”

 

“Oh, a few souls I influenced arrived. I was indulging,” she giggled into his neck. “You could come and watch, if you wanted?” 

 

Sam pondered. There really wasn't much to do in Hell aside from paperwork, reading, internet porn (the download speed, oh the praises Sam could sing), and torture. “Sure, why not.”

 

She bounced off his chest, wrenching a grunt from him and waited by the door. Sam slid on his boots and took her tiny, outstretched hand. She pulled him with amazing strength through the weaving corridors and out into the open stretches of nothing where people writhed in agony and screamed for help that would never come. 

 

He was lead up a platform completed with a pink stepping stool with yellow and white flowers on it beside a stone slab on which devices Sam had never seen before were spread. A woman was entwined in the chains, sobbing and shrieking about something or other. Glasya Labolas was pulling on a white pea coat over her dress and slipping out of her shiny Mary Janes into polka dotted wellingtons. She picked up something and with Sam's help climbed onto the stool and smiled at the woman, cooing. 

 

The screaming started within seconds and Sam just watched; leaned against a support pillar, hands in his pockets and watched, transfixed.

 

~*~

 

“Don't you look nice,” Asarte praised, looking Sam over. “Are you on your way up to see Loki?”

 

Sam nodded, adjusting his tie, wondering if it was too much. Ever since the Devil's Gate had been opened there were cracks through which they could seep and get back onto Earth. Even a fully corporeal being like him. 

 

“Is the tie too much?” Sam fiddled with it more and then brushed his fingers through his hair. 

 

“It adds a nice touch.” Asarte consulted her PDA and then looked back to Sam. “So, you're going to Germany, it's nice.”

 

“He's taking me to dinner. That seems awfully... native.”

 

She laughed, tossing her ink black hair off her shoulders. “It happens. Maybe he doesn't think he needs to impress you.”

 

“Mmm.” Sam nodded and followed her out. Sam liked her a lot, the opinionated ex-Goddess. “Did you go native?”

 

“You don't see me running around naked covered in blood and semen, do you?”

 

Sam laughed richly and hugged her tight when they reached the gap. Grasping hold of doorknob Sam took a look back, finding her gone, sighing, Sam turned and walked into the bright heat.

 

~*~

 

“I must admit, when I got Asarte's text I was surprised,” Loki said around the mouth of his wine glass. 

 

“I can imagine. Hunter and Boy King.” 

 

“I knew you had power, I could feel it, I could see it, but...”

 

Sam nodded in thanks when his wine glass was refilled and took a sip of the sweet but rich red wine. “It came out of left field for me too.” Taking a bite of his veal, Sam shifted and crossed his legs. “So, you play poker with them?”

 

“Mmm...” Loki finished his mouthful of potato fritter and took a sip of wine, before wiping his mouth. “I started about ninety years ago. I've always been close with Asarte, we go back, she introduced me to Kali way back when. She suggested I'd enjoy it. It's a good way to relax and it keeps you informed on what's been happening Down Under.”

 

Sam laughed into his wine and took a large mouthful of his wine. He took a bite of his potato salad and watched as Loki ate. “I find it interesting you're not covering everything in sugar.”

 

“I am capable of a civil meal. I just don't like to talk about it. So, if I can ask a blunt question, why did you choose me?”

 

“Familiar face,” Sam replied quickly before taking a bite of his salad and thought on the question. “To be honest with you, this whole process is new and kind of freaking me out, a familiar face seemed like a good idea, a smart decision.”

 

“Oh,” Loki nodded, and for a moment Sam swore he could see dejection all over the Trickster's face. “So it was a convenience thing.”

 

“And for a long time after meeting you I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

 

The smug smirk returned. “Oh really?”

 

Sam's eyes turned downwards, a shy smile taking his face. “Maybe.”

 

“So, where do you want to go for dessert?”

 

~*~

 

“Oh my...” Sam covered his mouth as he chewed, looking down at the plate and then back at Loki, who grinned. “This might be the best thing I've ever had in my mouth.”

 

Loki laughed and Sam's cheeks pinked, he looked back down at the fluffy waffles, smothered in orange liquor, rich, real whipped cream, brandy soaked blood oranges and strawberries and topped custard. 

 

“I told you I know my desserts.” Loki was indulging in tiramisu and looked like he was enjoying it.

 

“Well, I know not to doubt you when you say you know what you're talking about.” Sam licked the tines of the tiny fork, sighing happily.

 

“May I try a piece?”

 

“Huh?” Sam looked over to Loki, who was peering down at his plate. “Oh, sure.” 

 

Sam cut through the waffle easily with his fork and made sure to get a bit of everything on it. He cupped his hand under the offering and stretched his hand out. A brief flicker of surprise flashed over Loki's face before he leaned against the table and his mouth closed around the fork. His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned quietly, leaning back and chewing. 

 

“That is good.”

 

“Told you.”

 

Sam took a bite of his dessert and only after he had finished his bite and swallowed did he realize he had _fed_ Loki.

 

Fuck.

 

~*~

 

“Well, this is my stop,” Sam informed, leaning against the railing to an inconspicuous apartment building. The people milling past the building gave it no notice, just kept on trundling through the night. 

 

“I hope you had a good time.”

 

“I did. I really did.”

 

Sam watched Loki, who watched him. It had been a perfect date and he was wondering if he should risk a kiss. What exactly was the proper procedure when dating demi-gods who you hoped would become your Consort?

 

“I'm glad.”

 

Sam broke from his reverie and looked to Loki, who was suddenly so much closer, Sam's breath hitched and his hands settled onto Loki's shoulders, curled into the warm material of his shirt. He breathed in the heady scent of cocoa and espresso and something musky and woodsy under that. Something purely Loki. 

 

Their mouths met and it was slow, slow and sweet and everything Sam could want. Loki took his time, tongue licking at Sam's mouth before flicking inside playfully. Sam groaned and gripped tighter at Loki, pulled him closer and inhaled sharply through his nose, drowning. 

 

They broke and Sam stood, dazed and smiling weakly. Loki studied his face and licked his lips. Sam leaned in again, only to meet air, Loki gone, leaving only a laugh and the smell of cinnamon and grass. 

 

Sam was so screwed.

 

~*~

 

“He kissed you?” 

 

Sam nodded and moved his rook a few squares, taking out one of Asarte's pawns. She leaned forward, folding one arm under her breasts as she leaned into the table, pushing them up, enticing in her allure. Testing him. 

 

“I've never been kissed like that before.”

 

“No?” She moved her knight and plucked a bishop from the board. 

 

“Never,” Sam repeated, firm. 

 

“So, are you going to ask him?”

 

“I think I am.”

 

She smiled brightly, clearly pleased. “Wonderful! That means I can walk you through the ritual.”

 

“Later?”

 

She eyed him, took in his posture and grinned lewdly. “Do you need some alone time, Samuel?”

 

Sam frowned at her. “No.”

 

“Because I don't mind if you --”

 

“I said no. I just need some time to think.”

She nodded and stood. “Very well.”

 

When the door to his room clicked shut Sam crawled into his bed and flopped back. 

 

He was fucked.

 

~*~

 

_Did you design your sigil yet, Samuel?_

 

“My what?”

 

_Your sigil. Your brand. You'll need it to etch into your Consort. To make them yours._

 

Sam rested his head against the frozen bars of Lucifer's cage and let out a quick breath. “This is happening so fast.”

 

 _For the better. The time is coming soon, Samuel. It may seem far away but it isn't. We need you with us. When Dean will be here he will need you too. A strong leader to keep him safe, to train him._

 

“I know.”

 

_I've been told you've taken to playing with a few of our souls, how do you enjoy it?_

 

“The blood excites me, the gush of it over my hands, the warmth of it.”

 

_Ah, lovely. Do you think about it with your potential Consort? About his blood?_

 

“Sometimes...”

 

_Do not fear what you are becoming. You are becoming stronger, better. Our Prince. Our boy king._

 

“I know. Just sometimes I think...”

 

_You would always end up here Samuel, it is your fate. Your destiny. Just as it is Dean's to help us. To be at your side when you rule. As it is your Consort's to be with you._

 

Sam smiled faintly and nodded. “You're very good at talking, has anyone told you that?”

 

_It has been mentioned. Now go, Samuel, rest._

 

Nodding, Sam turned from the cage and left. 

 

~*~

 

“I want one in the same style as Lucifer's to show my... I guess my...”

 

“Position?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Laraje nodded, quickly moving his brush over the parchment to scrawl out Lucifer's sigil. Sam examined it, admired it. 

 

“Alright, I have an idea!” Laraje pulled out a laminated piece of paper and a marker and splayed it over the table. “Your name has a meaning, do you know the meaning of 'Samuel'?” 

 

Sam examined the plastic covered paper, covered in various scribbles. “Uh, yeah. 'God heard'.” 

 

Laraje nodded and leaned over, marker squeaking as it moved before he sat back. “What do you think?”

 

It was simple, with hard lines. No where near as elaborate as Lucifer's but Sam enjoyed it. He nodded, smiling and looking to Laraje with approval. Three days of work and they finally found one. 

 

“Excellent, let me show you how it works.”

 

~*~

 

“We're big talk, apparently.”

 

“Yeah. Gossip really flies.”

 

Sam walked beside Loki, sighing happily. He had asked and the other accepted. It was just a matter of time until a full moon. 

 

They were in Amsterdam, walking along the canal, it was late, past midnight, but the city was still very much alive. Sam leaned against a railing and watched a few boats, covered in lights, they floated down the water, slow and peaceful. Loki slid up behind him and Sam felt him rise onto his toes, pressing kisses to his shoulder and down his back. 

 

“You smell like mint,” Loki murmured into his back. 

 

“I was told that mint was a bit of a thing for you.”

 

“More than a thing, Sam, it makes me want to misbehave.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind.”

 

When their mouths pressed together, Sam smiled. 

 

~*~

 

“I have no time for patience.”

 

Sam fell back against the bed, biting at Loki's neck, his skin felt like it was on fire, everything inside of him surging _claim him, claim him, claim him_. Sam rolled them easily, knees pressed on either side of Loki's body, hands working to divest him of clothing. The room smelled heady, like mint and cinnamon.

 

“Hurry the fuck up,” Loki growled against his skin, biting. 

 

Sam stretched, picked up the silver dagger on the nightstand and pressed it to Loki's chest, Loki hissed through his teeth and arched, moaning when Sam made quick, sure cuts. Blood bubbled up and rolled down the heaving chest. Sam's mouth moved over the muscle, tongue lapping at the thick, hot liquid. The taste of copper filled his mouth and Sam took time to suck on the wounds, drawing out more of the precious, intoxicating liquid.

 

“F-fuck.” Loki's voice was shaky when Sam pulled his mouth back, wet and stained with blood. “C'mere.” 

 

Their mouths crushed together and when they broke Loki picked up the blade, etching in his own mark, leaning up to lick at the blood when it dripped, sucking every so often. Sam's hand wove into his hair, holding him in place while his hips thrust. 

 

They kissed again before Sam manhandled Loki down, holding him in place, tongue tracing over the mark, his mark, tasting Loki's blood. “With this blood and these words and these actions...” Sam bit back a groan at a playful thrust from Loki. “I consecrate this bond and bind you to me. Do you accept?”

 

“I do,” Loki ground out, breath coming in short gasps. “I really, really do.” He bit at Sam, tongue shivering over a wound. “With this blood, these words and actions, I give myself wholly unto you and allow myself to be bound. Do you accept?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good now fuck me.”

 

Sam grinned and all but tore their remaining clothes off. He made quick work of preparing Loki before taking him with one quick, deep thrust. Loki's head fell back and he choked on air, his hands settling on Sam's shoulders while Sam's settled on his hip. 

 

They moved, quick, furious and passionate. 

 

“Nnng, fuck, yes.” Sam pressed his forehead against Loki's panting into his mouth. 

 

Loki released his grip on Sam's shoulder with one hand, tracing under one eye with his thumb. “You feel... Fuck... You feel...” Loki tossed his head back on a particularly good thrust. “Your eyes...”

 

“What?”

 

“They're flickering. Hazel to black. It's the hottest thing.. Ah... Right there!”

 

Sam released his grip on Loki's hip and tangled their fingers together, hitching Loki up and slamming into him harder as he kissed him breathless. When they broke, Loki lead their joined hands down to his steadily leaking erection and enticed Sam into stroking. Sam shook, cursing, mouth leaving loose, wet kisses over Loki's shoulder and neck. 

 

“I'm gonna...” Loki warned, voice shaky and thick.

 

“Do it, sweet fucking... Do it!”

 

Loki wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling himself up and pushing down on Sam. He buried his hand in Sam's neck and fought his hand free from Sam's, even as Sam's hand on his cock sped up. Loki clung to Sam, whining, high and unintelligible in his throat. His body stiffened and one hand pressed flat against Sam's back, between his shoulders and the other slammed over his eyes. He screamed and everything in him shook apart. Power surged through Sam and with a raw, possessive cry he came, hand clutched into Loki's hip so hard he was sure if it were possible it would have cracked. 

 

They fell into a heap on the bed, Sam groaning and nuzzling against Loki, murmuring 'mine' over and over. 

 

“It may hurt a while, kiddo.” 

 

“Hm?” Sam felt a low thrum of pain between his shoulders as Loki dragged his fingers away. “It's fine. Feels good.” Sam slowly removed his hand from Loki's hip, admiring the red brand of his sigil and ran his fingers delicately over the raised flesh. “You're mine now.”

 

“And you're mine.”

 

Sam smiled lazily, shifting his body and sliding free from Loki with a quiet groan. Loki sighed and curled against his chest. Sam stroked down his cheek softly, sweetly and tilted his chin up to kiss him. They shared a few lazily, long kisses before Sam rested against the pillow. 

 

“I wore you out, hm?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Loki chuckled, kissing Sam's forehead. “Rest, lover. I'll be here.”

 

As Sam's breathed evened out Loki climbed out of bed and got dressed. He stretched once he was in the frozen air, breathing in the smell of smoke, ash and sulphur. Sticking his hands in his pockets, whistling as he walked he descended into the depths of Hell. He made his way through the heavy wooden door and into the room where Lucifer was imprisoned without trouble. He approached the cage, fingers wrapping around the cold iron, forehead pressing against the metal. He breathed in the smell of ozone and electricity and the faintest hint of lavender. 

 

_Hello, Gabriel._

 

_**How long have you known it was me, Brother?** _

 

_Long enough. I never knew you defected._

 

_**You were right, all those years ago. The Winchester boy, the boy king, he is mine now. Yours, ours.** _

 

_He still dreams of his brother. Fantasizes._

 

_**I will take care of that. Dean can be his as well, if he wishes it. I liked him as well.** _

 

The chill of Lucifer rushed over him, through him. Gabriel inhaled sharply and smiled. 

 

_I have missed you. I am glad to have you fighting on my side, little brother_

 

_**It took me a while to realize, I left Home, hid. No more.** _

 

_Train him well, Gabriel and hide nothing._

 

_**I shall. Be well, big brother.** _

 

Gabriel turned on his heel and left Lucifer alone in the dark.

 

~*~

 

Time dragged on. Sam learned. Excelled. He reveled in the pleasures of pain, of seduction. He did Gabriel and Lucifer proud; the demons proud. 

 

There was a ripple throughout Hell the day that Dean Winchester broke and climbed off the rack. A jeering cry the first time the air sensed he had drawn innocent blood. 

 

The first seal obliterated in a matter of moments. 

 

Sam was enjoying an enthusiastic blow job in his office when Asarte burst in, breathless and ecstatic. 

 

“Apologizes, Highness,” she stammered out, watching as Gabriel climbed from his knees and Sam buckled his belt, looking annoyed and expectant. “Your brother.”

 

The words barely left her mouth before Sam was running, Gabriel keeping stride. They'd been waiting for this day, not-literally-praying for it. 

 

Dean was astride a writhing, screaming body, a man, ribs parted to display his insides which Dean was delighting in playing with it. His older brother was covered in blood, determined excitement gracing his features. Alistair behind him, whispering words of encouragement. 

 

“Alistair!” Sam's voice was hard, drawing the demon's attention from the gruesome display of his pupil. 

 

“Highness!”

 

Dean's head lifted, as if just registering Sam's voice, recognizing it – it had been forever for him. His eyes were wide, still shining with delight but hopeful and pleading. He was off the now dead man and his arms were around Sam moments later, dirtying Sam's new white shirt with red hand prints.

 

“Sammy.” Sam watched as Dean stepped back, took in his appearance, his fully black eyes – for power and authority over Alistair, and Gabriel standing firmly and possessively to his right. Dean's brow furrowed, confused. “Sammy?”

 

“Come with me.” It was an order, short and quick before Sam whirled on his heel and began walking.

 

No one spoke until they reached Sam's office, Dean took in everything, his expression constantly flashing between confused, annoyed and pleased. 

 

Dean broke the silence when Sam dropped onto the couch and Gabriel laid over him. “What the fuck?”

 

“Dad told you,” Sam replied, calm. “I was wrong. I was different.”

 

“You're a demon!?”

 

Sam tipped his head back, thinking. “Not really. I'm... they call me the Boy King.”

 

Dean charged forward but was stopped when Gabriel seized him by the shoulder and held him in place. “He pushed you in! The Demon! You were gone, Sam! Fucking gone! I tried to bring you back! Now I find out you've been partying down here the whole goddamn time and that you're Hell's special prize!?” He wrenched himself free from Gabriel. “And what the hell! You're with The Trickster now?”

 

“Actually...” Sam said, coming up behind Gabriel and wrapping his arms around his waist, his chin resting atop Gabriel's head. “He's the Archangel Gabriel.”

 

“This is fucking insane! You were the good one! The normal one!”

 

“Can't fight destiny, Dean.”

 

“Screw destiny!”

 

“Dean, you're down here forever, whether you like it or not. You made a deal, you lost, you got dragged down. It's up to you whether you enjoy it or be miserable for eternity. The end of the world is coming, Dean. I can feel it. We're all a part of it. You have to make a choice me – family or them.”

 

Dean stepped back, slowly realizing that Sam was right. As fucked up as everything was, Sam was right. Sam was family, was his brother, the one person he loved the most in his entire existence and he was standing right in front of him offering him a shiny, shiny apple and a Hell of a deal. An unending lifetime with him versus a life of pain. 

 

Dean takes in the whole appearance of his brother, still wrapped possessively around the Trickster/Archangel: eyes jet black, mussed, smirking, but still _Sam_. Still the baby brother he helped raise, he loved and loved him back. The same Sam who he had done so much with – everything with – even the unthinkable. Offering him into his life, his bed, his heart, his everything. 

 

Dean extended out a hand and Sam's smirk widened into a smile. Gabriel slipped from Sam's grasp and Sam closed a hand around Dean's, pulled him forward, a hand fisting into his hair and crushed their mouths together. They kissed for a long moment before breaking and when Dean looked into Sam's eyes again they were the familiar, loving, warm hazel. 

 

“We'll make our own Eden, Dean,” Sam whispered against his mouth, “you'll see.”

 

Sounded like a good party.

 

“Bring it.”


End file.
